


Bargains

by Boyonabranch



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Crossover, M/M, Misunderstandings, SVU - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, The Winchesters and The Law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boyonabranch/pseuds/Boyonabranch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam isn't going to let a little thing like a de-aging curse stop him from living his life to the fullest, especially now that the clock is ticking on Dean's deal. So when a case comes up in New York, they go, not knowing it will end up with Dean arrested and Sam in protective custody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/937084) by [foolsdance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolsdance/pseuds/foolsdance). 



> For this story, Sam is physically de-aged to about fourteen, with the mentality of a twenty-four year old. While in this younger body, Sam and Dean continue a sexual relationship that began a year or so earlier and they are caught by the police who see what appears to be a grown man taking advantage of a child. Most of the story will be from the SVU point of view, however, the focus will be on the brothers. Set Season 3 for SPN, Season 9 for SVU.
> 
> This story can easily be read with no knowledge of Law and Order: SVU. All you really need to know is that they are an NYPD unit who investigate sexually based offenses. On the Supernatural side, you'll probably need to have watched through the episode Jus in Bello for this to make any sense.

There were exactly two reasons why people chose to stay at the Kimberly Hotel, and they were the same two reasons people were motivated to do a lot of the things they did. Sex and money.

The day manager, Vinnie, had developed a fine eye for both kinds of clientele, who were not, by the way, mutually exclusive. Mostly this meant married folks looking for some afternoon nookie, and the hotel Kimberly had the winning combination of being both cheap and discrete. And then there were those who rented a room by the day or the week, people down on their luck who just couldn't afford better.

Right up until last night, he had James Hetfield (obviously a fake name but this in no way made him stand out from the crowd) and his little brother pegged as the latter. Worn clothes and a way of handling themselves made it clear they weren't suburbanites spending the week in the city on a lark. He saw them several times during the course of the six days they'd been here, passing through the lobby, mostly quiet but sometimes bickering the way brothers did.

Last night, however, something had happened to change his perception of the situation.

There was a moment, just one moment, when the two had paused before climbing the stairs. Vinnie had thought for a minute that a fight or at least an argument was about to break out, and was gearing up to shut that down real quick like before it escalated into something Bad (like that time a few years back, when that hooker had taken an ice pick to her pimp over by the ficus tree, and he'd been the one stuck cleaning up the blood).

As it turned out, the charged atmosphere turned out to be for a different reason. It was nothing really obvious, no kissing or fondling or anything like that. But there was a look between them, heated and heavy, followed by a touch. Nothing overtly sexual, just a brush of hands, and yet. 

And yet it was obvious these two weren't brothers, or if they were, they weren't the kind of brothers Norman Rockwell painted. Vinnie wasn't a man overly burdened by a conscious. As far as he was concerned, what two (or more) people did together was their business, no matter what the law had to say about it. However, he did draw the line at kids. 

This situation had come up a few times before, always with a john and an obviously way too young hustler, and so Vinnie was prepared. He flipped through his Rolodex, cracked and faded with age, until he got to the business card stapled inside belonging to one Olivia Benson, one of the detectives who'd shown up after the ice pick incident.

He was halfway through the call when the pieces slid into place and he realized who, exactly, he had had staying in his hotel for the past week.

Dean Winchester.

“Gimme a second, there, detective, I think I got something else for you. Something big.”

He tucked the phone under his chin as he rooted around through the stack of magazines on his desk, stopping when he got to a lurid true crime rag - the kind that generally featured a half naked, pretty young woman on the cover.

The detective on the other end was getting impatient by the time he got to the picture he remembered – a deadly looking man holding a gun, standing in the open doorway of a bank. If he remembered correctly, it was a bank he happened to be robbing at the time. He quickly skimmed through the article and sat down with a thump. 

“You, ah, might wanna bring SWAT with you this time. I'm thinking you're gonna need 'em.”

*

Detectives Benson and Stabler did, in fact, bring a SWAT team along, after hearing who they had in their city. Learning that there was also a child on scene with a high probability of said child being used as a hostage or human shield just made it even more imperative that nothing go wrong. 

They emptied out the rooms to both sides of Winchester, just in case gunfire broke out, before the team broke in. 

When the all clear was given, Elliot and Olivia went in to find four officers facing down a man standing near the bed, a man Olivia recognized from the picture she'd hastily pulled up before they'd got there. Dean Winchester.

In all his naked glory.

One of the other SWAT team grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor and threw them at their perp, who lowered his hands to catch them.

“Hands up,” the team leader barked and Dean just smirked in response.

“Make up your mind there, chief. You want me dressed or you want me with my hands up in the air? 'Cause the good citizens of New York might have something to say about me parading down the street with my dick hanging out. Then again...”

“Put 'em on, smart ass,” Elliot barked even as Dean anticipated the order and pulled on the jeans smoothly.

Most people, even hardened criminals, tended to be a little off balance when a SWAT team invaded their space. Especially if they were in middle of sex, as he appeared to have been. And most especially, if their partner was clearly underage by a good four or five years.

Dean Winchester, apparently, was not most people. 

Olivia left Elliot to deal with their perp while she saw to their victim.

He was sitting up in the bed, hunched up near the headboard, covered with the thin polyester bedspread provided by the hotel. His shoulders and arms, the only body parts that were visible, were bare, and she didn't doubt the rest of him was just as naked. His eyes were wary but calm.

Olivia had to wonder what sort of life he'd led that the morning's events hadn't triggered more of a reaction. It was a sure bet that it hadn't been an easy one, or in any way pleasant. At least not recently.

Then again, he just may be in shock. Only one way to find out.

“Hey there. My name is Olivia. I'm a police officer, here to help you.” She paused and got down on her haunches, making herself as small and non-threatening as possible. “You're safe now,” she said softly.

The boy just continued to watch her, his face empty of all expression. Maybe he didn't speak English. They were seeing an upswing in immigrant prostitution rings lately. Kids and young adults from all over the world, most of them tricked into believing they were going to work in legitimate jobs, all of whom ended up in a nightmare world of sex slavery.

“Do you understand?” 

The boy nodded, hazel eyes darting from her to Winchester to those holding weapons and back again.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked gently as Elliot began leading their perp out of the room, now fully clothed and shod, escorted by several officers.

She could practically see the wheels turning in his mind as he considered the question. Olivia didn't push, instead waiting patiently for the boy to decide whether or not she was to be trusted.

She saw the minute he made up his mind, as one side of his mouth quirked up almost wryly.

“I'm Sam,” he said. “Sam Winchester.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot lizard is slang for a prostitute who mostly plies his or her trade in the parking lot of truck stops. It'll come up in the course of this chapter as little Sammy is briefly mistaken for one, so consider yourself warned.

*

Dean Winchester was exactly the sort of guy Elliot hated dealing with most – arrogant, smug, and a smart ass. It pushed all his buttons, but the good thing was that those types generally couldn't keep from bragging about their exploits sooner or later.

 

On the off chance Winchester was both smart and controlled enough to keep his mouth shut, he made a mental note to see if Tutuola would be willing to play fellow prisoner in hopes of getting some sort of confession out of the creep.

 

Not that it was necessary, as he'd been caught red handed. Still, he'd learned the hard way that there was no such thing as too much evidence when it came down to it.

 

“So, are we walking the whole way or what?”

 

“Shut up, wise guy,” Elliot said as they rounded the corner to reveal the armored paddy wagon, parked well out of sight of the building they'd just exited. He opened the door and waved a hand at the interior. “In. Now.”

 

Olivia called him on the way to the station.

 

“We've got a problem,” she said without preamble.

 

“What?”

 

“Our victim, the kid, he's calling himself Sam Winchester.”

 

“Wait a minute, that's the brother, right?”

 

Elliot didn't miss the way Winchester's head snapped around at the mention of his brother.

 

“Yes, but there's no way this is Sam Winchester, brother of Dean Winchester. I'm looking at a mug shot of him now. He has at least ten years on this kid.”

 

“So what are we thinking?”

 

“God knows. Kidnapped most likely. And Winchester coached him on what to say if someone asked who he was. They are close enough in age that being brothers would be plausible.” She took a deep breath and continued. “So now the next step is finding out who this kid really is. I'll work on this end but -”

 

“Yeah.” Elliot said. “I know.”

 

He didn't stated the obvious. That just because they had told the kid he was safe from Winchester now didn't mean he believed it. With some people it took time before they truly believed it; days, weeks, even years.  
  


Elliot glanced up at Winchester, who was still watching him intently. “We'll talk about it at the station. In the meantime, maybe you should give Huang a heads up. I have a feeling we're going to need him.”

 

*

 

Olivia knocked on the bathroom door where Sam was inside getting dressed.

 

“Sam?” she said, the name sounding false to her ears. With any luck they'd know this poor kid's actual name soon. “You about done?”

 

The door opened quickly, as though he'd just been waiting for her knock. Sam emerged, fully dressed and ready to go.

 

He said nothing, however, and Olivia spoke to fill the silence.

 

“Do you have anything you want to take with you?” She looked around the room, taking in the two duffle bags, along with an assortment of other items being bagged and tagged by the CSI tech. “It'll have to be processed first but if there's something you really want for later, like a book or something?”

 

“No. Thank you. I'm fine,” he said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

 

“Well, then. Let's go.”

 

Halfway down the stairs, he asked, “So where are we going, exactly?”

 

“To the hospital. We need to get you checked out, make sure you're okay before we do anything else.”

 

Sam was quiet the whole ride over, not responding to her innocuous questions with anything more than monosyllables. Eventually she let him be and they both lapsed into silence.

 

The examination was mercifully brief, Sam appearing unaffected by the whole thing afterwards. The doctor confirmed recent sexual activity, including anal intercourse, and let her know that they had gotten samples for DNA testing. It seemed Winchester had been careful with the boy, as there were no signs of fissures or tearing, past or present. They had found and photographed two large contusions, however, along with several scars of varying ages.

 

Apparently Winchester wasn't always so careful of his young companion.

 

Elliot tracked her down at the station as she was getting Sam settled into an interrogation room with a drink and a sandwich. He waited until she shut the door between them and the kid before asking, “So what did the doc say?”

 

Olivia told him, watching his lips thin as his anger built. It was one thing to strongly suspect abuse, it was another to have it graphically confirmed.

 

“Any idea yet who he really is?”

 

“None. He's barely talking to me.”

 

“You think he's still in shock?”

 

“Maybe. But I have a feeling that it's more an issue of trust.”

 

Elliot nodded.

 

“Understandable. You'll get through to him. While I'll work on Winchester.”

 

“Did he give you anything we can use?”

 

“Chattered like an idiot all the way here – about everything and nothing. Mostly nothing. Didn't seem too worried about being brought in. Did you get Huang?”

 

“Yes, he's going to get the FBI file on both brothers. And work up a quick profile from it. He also wants to talk to both of them himself first, though.”

 

Elliot pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning on with a sigh.

 

“Fine by me. I'm not waiting though. Somewhere there's a family missing a kid and worried sick about him. I'm going to see they get him back as soon as possible.”

 

That would be the best case scenario, Olivia thought to herself as he walked away. The one she hoped for, because every other one she could imagine would end up being so much worse for the unnamed kid in interview room three.

 

*

 

John Winchester was many things, but lax in his teaching duties as far as his sons went wasn't one of them. Along with such useful life skills as lock picking and weapons training, both his boys had been schooled in the fine art of lying.

 

Sam, to his secret consternation, had proven to be far more proficient at it than his brother. At age twelve, he could convince all but the most suspicious authority figure that his father was, in fact, home and not off god knows where for the foreseeable future. By age fourteen he was able to pass off grave digging as a harmless teenage prank. By the time he left for college, Sam reckoned he was just as good or better than his dad at getting information from just about anyone.

 

There were three central rules that he followed.

 

One: Have your lie rehearsed and ready to go before it was needed, not after. He'd already dropped the ball with this one. Since getting cursed nine days ago (by a hexed _baseball_ of all things) he'd woken up every morning fully expecting to be back to his normal self. Everything he'd read said that such things generally lasted a week at the outside, usually less. And so he'd let the creation of a believable, verifiable back story for this new, unwanted persona slide. There were so many other things to worry about, after all, chief among these getting Dean out of his deal.

 

It seemed a harmless irony to simply pass himself off as, well, himself. Dean's younger brother, no matter what name he was going by that day. He should have anticipated this possibility, that they'd run into someone who knew the real them and who could consequently cause problems. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

 

Two: Give people what they expect. If they were in a college town, for example, the two of them would sometimes pass themselves off as frat boys up to some harmless hi-jinks. The drunk, lost tourist act played well anywhere with an active night life, while in the heartland he might go for the clueless farm boy.

 

In the situation he now found himself in, it was obvious who he should present himself as: the innocent victim. Someone no one would expect to be secretly plotting to free their erstwhile captor.

 

The third rule was the one he disliked most, as it required him to put something of himself into the lie.

 

“ _Always wrap your story around a kernel of truth, Sam,” John had told him, his face still and serious. “People, some more than others, can sniff out a lie, but if you mix in something that's real it confuses them, throws them off the trail.”_

 

_Sam had no idea what he meant by that, and told him so._  
  
_“Well, let's say you're caught trespassing somewhere you shouldn't be. You could just say you were lost, and it would probably work. Or you could say, I had a fight with my dad and wasn't paying attention to where I was going, so sorry and it'll never happen again. The trick to it is – and this is important Sam, pay attention - you need to remember an argument we've had while you're telling the story. All that anger, that **real** anger, will come through in your voice and body language. And you'll be believed a lot quicker than just saying 'I got lost.' Get it?”_

 

Sam wasn't sure what kernel of truth he could use in this particular situation.

 

Then it hit him – he'd already used it. Simply by using his true name, and invoking his actual identity, he'd set up the perfect truth within a lie. The world believed them to be co-dependent psycho killers. With his adult self conspicuously absent, it could be assumed that Dean had snapped as a result, kidnapped someone who reminded him of his missing brother and forced his captive to play along.

 

Now he just needed to flesh out a background for this version of himself, something believable but not easily or quickly checked out. Something they could gradually draw out of him while he played the frightened kid, and most importantly, planned out their escape.

 

Piece of cake.

 

*

 

The holding cell is clean, well-lit, and refreshingly free from three hundred pound assholes who want to make him squeal like a pig. In short, it's a step up from the usual run, at least the ones Dean has had personal experience of.

 

He'd trade it for a spot in any one of those others in a heartbeat.

 

Except for that very last one, and he wasn't thinking about that now, thank you very much, those other arrests had taken place back before he'd gotten the reputation he had now. Back when all he'd been picked up for was a B&E, or maybe simple grave desecration. A whole world away from being seen as a nut job serial killer. And if that wasn't bad enough, he could now add the one descriptor he'd never, ever wanted attached to his name.

 

Pedophile.

 

Thank you very freaking much, Sammy, he thought at his brother, wherever he was. Hopefully in this building. He would be in the building, somewhere, wouldn't he? Because escaping would be hard enough without trying to track him down to some scuzzy foster home where they'd probably starve and beat his suddenly much smaller and thus much more vulnerable little brother.

 

Wait. Dammit.

 

He was supposed to be pissed at Sammy over this. Without even being here, he was making Dean worry about him instead. He blamed the puppy eyes. They were powerful enough in a grown up Sammy but had near lethal weapon levels of persuasion going on now that he was little again.

 

It wasn't like Dean hadn't tried to resist. He had. For four whole days he'd held out, because he wasn't sick, dammit, he didn't screw kids, even if it was the same Sammy inside. His little brother had pointed that out about six million times, adding in some truly impressively filthy language to illustrate his point, the main thrust of which somehow always seemed to revolve around various body parts and orifices and what Sammy wanted to do to them or have done to them and well.

 

He'd snapped.

 

He couldn't even manage a good sulk about it afterwards, all warm and relaxed in the afterglow, their limbs tangled together in the sweaty sheets. After the third go-round, sometime around three in the morning, it had even stopped feeling weird to touch the thin, underdeveloped chest Sammy was now sporting, all those hard won muscles sadly gone.

 

He wondered what would happen if Sam were to suddenly revert to his old self here and now. Heh. It would almost be worth the ensuing shitstorm just to see the looks on the faces of these fuckers.

 

Okay, that was a little harsh. Maybe.

 

Dean normally cut the cops a lot of slack, even as he was being arrested, because he knew they had a job almost as shitty as his without ever even getting to ride in a car as sweet as his baby. Although they did get a regular paycheck. That must help.

 

It was hard to feel charitable when you felt like a monkey in a zoo, however. The holding cell they'd put him was just off the main drag. Over to the right he had a clear view of desks and monitors and what seemed to him to be far too many cops for the size of the area. He suspected people from other departments were dropping in on flimsy pretexts just to stare at him.

 

A stocky man, about Sammy's actual age and dressed in a nicer version of his “I'm an official” suit drifted slowly down the corridor in front of his cell, holding a folder but all too obviously ogling Dean the whole time. And not in a flattering “I want to jump your bones” kind of way. No, his expression looked a lot like Sammy's had when he'd seen his first freshly dead body, mangled and bloody and gross with several feet of small intestine spilling out over the forest floor. Horrified disgust mixed in with an unwilling fascination.

 

Dean felt a little better after growling and lunging forward at the jerk, causing him to jump backwards a full two feet before scurrying away much faster than he'd come. Showed him.

 

He kept his smile in place as he settled down on the cold metal bench and attempted to make himself comfortable. Not exactly easy to do on a piece of furniture clearly designed to be the very opposite of comfortable.

 

He tried to let his mind drift. Think about something that didn't make him want to punch a wall in frustration. His mind, however, had other ideas and kept circling around to how unbelievably bad this looked. How, even after they escaped, there would always be that label following him around now, with no one but him and Sammy knowing the truth. How it must seem to those cops who'd seen him butt ass naked in a hotel room with – wait a minute, just who did they think Sammy, _little_ Sammy was?

 

He knew that Sam had given them his real name because he'd heard it as he'd been frog marched out of their room, but it would look as though his brother was lying.

 

More to the point, it would look as though Dean had either kidnapped a kid and scared the living daylights out of him to the point that he'd pretend to be his brother.

 

Oh, fuck.

  
This was bad. He hadn't thought it could be worse than pedophilic serial killer, but now it somehow, impossibly was.

 

Sam would play the victim. It would be the smart thing to do, get them to let their guard down so he could make a break for it, and Sammy was smart. Not to mention armed with those deadly puppy eyes that Dean swore he could make fill up with tears at will. Heh. They didn't know it yet, but they didn't stand a chance.

 

Sammy had used them on someone besides his poor, put upon brother twice since he'd been _stupid_ enough to catch that _stupid_ baseball.

 

Once in a diner to get breakfast when they'd stopped serving it a half hour earlier. The waitress had caved almost immediately. Then again in a Pump-n-Go parking lot, when a trucker had mistaken Sammy for a lot lizard. It had held the big, burly man off him long enough for Dean to get over there and set his ass straight. Set him straight with his _fists_.

 

Dean cracked his knuckles in remembered satisfaction before it occurred to him that an actual sexual predator was out there walking around free as bird, a bird with a busted up face, but still. He was free and Dean, an innocent man, was stuck here in jail.

 

Life was just plain unfair.

 

*

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Elliot found his prisoner sitting in the corner of the holding cell, head propped against the bars, apparently asleep. He picked up a metal three hole punch from the nearest desk and banged it against the bars obnoxiously.

 

“Wake up, sleeping beauty!” he called loudly, grinning as Winchester jumped and swore.

 

“ _Sonovabitch!_ ”

 

“Got things to do, let's go,” Elliot said, his voice bright and cheerful. Rattling the cage – in this case literally – of a creep like Winchester never failed to lift his spirits.

 

The interview room he'd chosen was as far from the one where Olivia had put the kid as he could get. Pretty much the last thing he wanted was an accidental meeting between the two. He took the chair nearest the door – the good chair – and watched as Winchester cased the room before settling in the only other seat. It wobbled slightly under his weight.

 

Winchester pretended not to notice.

 

The heat was stifling, the buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights adding to the overall uncomfortable feel of the room.

 

Elliot waited until the silence became oppressive before stating simply, “Sam's a cute kid. Where did you two meet?”

 

Winchester smiled slightly and said, “Why don't you ask him? You're not going to believe a word I say anyway.”

 

“Oh, we will be talking to Sam as well. Believe me. But right now, I'm asking you. So why don't you behave like a decent human being for once and tell me how to find this kid's family so we can get him home where he belongs.”  
  


Winchester tilted his head and that infuriating grin got a little bigger.  
  


“Maybe he doesn't have one.”  
  


Elliot considered that for a minute before saying, “Are you trying to tell me you murdered his parents in order to kidnap him?” It was a possibility that he'd considered, especially given what he now knew about the brothers – he'd spent the last couple of hours productively, learning all he could about them – but he'd hoped he was wrong.

 

Winchester just shook his head disbelievingly.

 

“Man, you cops. Always ready to believe the worst about me. Maybe Sammy just needed someone to take care of him.”

 

Elliot leaned forwards slightly and made no effort to hide his disgust.

 

“I saw how you 'took care of' _Sammy_. First hand and up close.”

 

Elliot finally got to see the first hint of shame in Winchester. It was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come, but Elliot pounced on the weakness like a dog with a bone.

 

“That bothers you, doesn't it? Other people knowing. Knowing that you screw little kids. That you're a baby rapist.”  
  


Winchester's mask was firmly back in place, but Elliot wasn't fooled.

 

“That's not how it was,” Winchester said with a definite edge of defensiveness.

 

“Really? Why don't you tell me then? Tell me how it was, because I'd be real interested in hearing it. Did he come on to you? Ask for it?” Elliot dropped his voice down an octave as he leaned in again. “Did he beg you for it Dean? Is that what happened?”

 

Winchester's eyes were getting bigger and bigger as Elliot went on, scenting blood. It wouldn't surprise him in the least if the scumbag really believed that the kid _had_ wanted to have sex with him, a grown man. If he could get him to admit it, it would be the first step in getting the rest of the story out of him.

 

But then, once again, the mask dropped back into place.

 

“I'm not talking about Sam anymore,” he said, eyes hooded and dark, and flatly refused to be provoked any further.

 

Eventually, Elliot gave up and tried a new line of questioning.

 

“So what brought you to New York. Sightseeing? The food maybe?”

 

ViCap had yielded two crimes committed in the last week in the area that matched Winchester's modus opperandi. One was a robbery at the Morgan Library and Museum during which a collection of medieval Coptic manuscripts had been taken while other, much more valuable pieces including several old master paintings had been ignored.

 

The other possibility was far worse - the torture murder of a young woman, found tied to a chair in her apartment, partially flayed. The M.E. concluded that it had been done while the victim was still alive. It matched Winchester's St. Louis atrocities almost exactly.

 

Dean shrugged.

 

“Never been. Thought now was a good a time for a visit as any.”

 

That answer felt – off – to Elliot, although he couldn't put his finger on why. There was a subtext there he wasn't getting.

 

“Did your brother come with you? From what I've heard you two are never apart.” He smiled at Winchester. “Like an old married couple. Sweet, really.”

 

Winchester refused to rise to the bait, however. He just smiled in response and answered, “Oh, Sammy came with me all right.”

 

“So where is he, Dean? Is he out hunting down another pretty girl for you to carve up? Did he help you kidnap that kid? Did you two take turns using that little boy for your own sick, twisted -”  
  


“Dude!”

  
And there it was. The emotional response he'd been looking for. People tended to say much more than they intended when angry. Maybe now he'd get some straight answers.

 

“I'm waiting, Dean. Where is Sam?”

 

Winchester's anger disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.

 

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” he said, repeating his assertion from earlier.

 

“What are you trying to tell me, Dean? Just say it. Maybe I'll buy it, who knows?”

 

Dean leaned forward over the table and folded his hands together. His voice was low and serious as he answered, “He's right here in the building.”

 

Elliot stood up and slapped the metal table between them, hard enough that his hand stung from the impact. “You're right, I don't believe you. I don't believe a fourteen-year-old kid is really your twenty-four-year-old brother because _I'm_ not a _crazy person_. So why don't you try telling the truth for once in your miserable life.”

 

No way did he think Dean really believed the nonsense he was spouting. More like, he was setting up for an insanity defense. He was playing with them, wasting everyone's time and energy.

 

They were working against the clock here. The Feds could come in at any time and take Winchester from their custody, leaving them with a lost, broken boy and no answers. He refused to let that happen.

 

He continued to poke and prod but Winchester only smiled, his good humor apparently restored and said “Told you you wouldn't believe me.”

 

Cocky bastard. Eventually Elliot gave up, although only for the moment, of course. With any luck, Huang would give him some fresh ammo to use in their next go-round.

 

*

 

Dr. George Huang pulled up the file on Dean Winchester, scanning through it quickly before going through it again more thoroughly. It had been assembled almost entirely by Special Agents Henrikson and Reidy, now deceased. It was impressive, to say the least. There were interviews with former teachers and classmates, reports from social workers and various law enforcement agencies he'd had contact with over the years. A time line had been constructed showing known and suspected crimes Dean had committed, either alone or with his father and/or brother. Known offenses were written in blue, while suspected ones were marked with red.

  
There was a _lot_ of red.

 

The final pages of his file had been assembled by a team sent from the Denver field office to deal with the aftermath of the explosion that demolished the El Paso County Sheriffs Office in Monument, Colorado. Seven people were believed to have lost their lives when it had gone up, almost all of them LEO's. Special Agents Henrikson and Reidy were among those killed. The Winchesters were also supposed to have died that day, although not in the explosion. Henrikson himself had reported both brothers as having been killed attempting to escape a couple of hours prior to his own untimely end.

 

Although a gas leak was originally suspected, no definitive cause was found for the explosion. No trace of accelerates, bomb fragments, or trace explosives were ever located in the building's rubble. In the end the case was left open, the cause of the explosion marked as being of “indeterminate origin”. In other words, no one knew exactly what had happened, although the use of a new, unknown explosive or device was strongly suspected.

 

Someone should have known, or at least suspected that the Winchesters had survived the explosion. It was obvious to Huang that the brothers had coerced that false report of their deaths from Henrikson before rigging up some sort of a time delay device designed to simultaneously stage their deaths and get rid of all eye witnesses. He could picture, in his mind, those seven people tied up and waiting for a rescue that would never come. Sacrifices on the alter of the Winchester brothers.

 

Given that Sam was now MIA, it was possible that he didn't make it out after all. Or he may have been killed sometime in the intervening time period, they led highly dangerous lives after all. It was also possible that he'd had enough and simply left Dean to go live his own life, as he'd done once before.

 

Dean had pulled a stunt similar to the one in Colorado in St. Louis just a couple of years earlier, staging his own death following a string of sadistic murders. No one knew who the poor unfortunate doppelganger was who'd been shot by Sam, conveniently ending the manhunt for Dean, but everyone agreed that the resemblance to the actual Dean was uncanny.

 

Sam Winchester's file was similar to his brothers, except for a period in his late teens and early twenties when he'd left the fold to attend college. Henrikson and Reidy had been of the opinion that Sam had been attempting to go straight but had been forced back in by Dean. It was pretty damning – his girlfriend's death had been the precipitating factor, and her death was nearly identical to Mary Winchester's death some two decades earlier. Right down to the date, November second.

 

It seemed Dean needed his brother at his side, needed him to a pathological degree, and would do almost anything to have him there. There was a picture of Jessica Moore in the file, her face open and smiling. Another innocent bystander dead for no good reason. He wondered if Sam had known the truth about his girlfriend's death, or if he'd believed the tale Dean would have undoubtedly spun involving some evil creature being the cause of her demise. Either way, he'd left a promising future behind to be at his brother's side as he cut a swath of terror and destruction across the county.

 

Ruthless, calculating and cold blooded were the words he'd use to describe Dean Winchester, but that didn't get him any closer to figuring out what made this particular killer tick. Huang scheduled a meeting with Elliot and Olivia for later that afternoon, then pulled out a notebook and got to work.

 

*

 

“I believe what we're dealing with is a case of shared psychotic disorder,” Huang said as he handed copies of the FBI's files on the Winchester brothers to Elliot and Olivia, “also known as induced delusional disorder or _folie a deax_. Although technically, in this case it would be more accurate to say _folie a famille_.”

 

Elliot frowned in thought. “I've heard of that. The _deax_ one, anyway.”

 

“It's rare, and known cases among families are even rarer, but I believe this to be a textbook case.”

 

“What is it, exactly?” Olivia asked.

 

“It's when one family member suffers from a psychotic disorder and is able to convince others who are close to them to believe in their delusions. For example, a wife who believed she was being poisoned by her husband's family – with absolutely no supporting evidence – convinced her husband that it was true to the point that he murdered his parents and sister. He told others before hand that he saw them sneaking around his house at night and believed they were putting something in the home's water supply. It was all false, of course.”

 

Huang pulled a picture of John Winchester from the file and placed it on the table between them. “All the death and destruction brought about by the Winchester brothers,” he said, pointing at the photograph, “began with him.”

 

Huang went on to tell them of a family man who suffered a sudden and severe break from reality following the death of his wife in a house fire, a fire he and his two young sons barely escaped from with their lives.

 

“Did he kill her?” Olivia asked.

 

“I think it's unlikely given his actions afterward, although it is possible. No cause for the fire was found and there was so little left of the body that it was impossible to determine an exact cause of death. At any rate, he was never charged. But soon after, with an infant and a preschooler in tow, he abandoned everything. A successful business, community support, and friends were left behind as he began a quest for the reason behind his wife's death.”  
  
“Not smart but not psychotic. Where does the crazy come in?” Elliot asked.

 

“The agents who investigated John Winchester as part of the manhunt for the brothers discovered that their father believed something supernatural had caused her death. Not only that, he believed the world was populated by a whole host of supernatural beings, everything from ghosts to werewolves. And it was his job to travel around the country killing them.”

 

“He raised his kids to do the same thing,” Olivia said quietly.

 

“Exactly. His delusions were such that he'd see something, like slightly longer than normal canine teeth, and take it as proof that this person was a vampire, for example. To anyone else, that person's teeth would appear well within the normal spectrum, but not to him. Or to his boys.”  
  
“I can see this working on little kids,” Elliot interjected, “but c'mon. Once they got older, surely they would have known all that stuff was bullshit. Right?”

 

Huang shook his head. “Not necessarily. And in this case, most definitely not. Their entire lives have been built around their father's delusions. He not only drilled his beliefs into their heads, he extensively trained them in how to deal with the supernatural things he saw. And he moved them around constantly. They never had a chance to form close connections with anyone but him which might have helped them develop more individual personalities. Although I believe Sam was less invested than his brother, as evidenced by the time he spent away from his family.”

 

“They never really had a chance,” Olivia sighed, mostly to herself.

 

“It's why their methodology is all over the place,” Huang continued. “Most serial killers refine their techniques over time as they learn what works for them and what doesn't. They don't go from a series of torture murders to bank robbery to mass murder. They also tend to pick a weapon and stay with it. The Winchesters did what they were taught, and it was very specific to whatever creature they believed they were hunting. Although the cleanup ritual seemed to be universal. Salt for purification, followed by burning.”

 

“So Dean sees himself as one of the good guys. How does he justify kidnapping and raping that kid? How does that make any kind of sense?” Olivia asked.

 

Huang paused before answering.

 

“I don't know. I need to interview both of them to find out for sure. Right now, my best guess is that Sam really is dead and Dean couldn't handle it. Family is at the core of his personality. Alone, he was adrift. Put simply, he fell further into his madness and took the first suitable replacement for his brother that he could find so that he wouldn't be alone.”

 

“So why would he have sex with him?” Elliot asked.

 

“It could be a way of establishing dominance over the boy. Or he could simply be continuing a sexual relationship he had with his actual brother.”

 

“Just when you think the family can't get any more twisted,” Elliot muttered to himself.

 

“And blowing up the station? Killing all those people?” Olivia asked.

 

“The Winchester's would have seen them as acceptable losses in their fight against evil. Regrettable but necessary.”

 

“What about the kid?” Elliot said, “What did Winchester do to him to make him pretend to be the brother?”

 

“Probably a combination of forced dependence, intimidation and threats.”

 

“Like Stockholm Syndrome?” Olivia asked.

 

“Exactly. He sees Dean as someone who is providing for him, protecting him. He's grateful to him for not killing him and believes himself to be dependent on Dean for his very survival.”

 

“I don't get it,” Elliot said flatly. “Giving someone your loyalty because he didn't kill you. Especially with everything else we know he did to the kid. God only knows what happened that we don't know about.”

 

“It sounds crazy to us because we aren't in that situation. It's a documented syndrome, and Sam would have been especially vulnerable to it due to his age alone.”

 

“What are our chances of getting through to him in time?” Olivia said. Huang had already agreed to delay turning in his official report and to buy them as much time as possible with the FBI. Still, they all knew it was only a matter of time before they'd have to hand Winchester over to the feds.

 

“I feel certain that I can get something out of him. I'll have to push much harder than I would in a therapeutic setting but that can't be helped.” He looked Elliot in the eye before adding, “Understand though, that if I feel I'm doing psychological damage I'll back off. We don't know how fragile Sam is and I won't be responsible for pushing him too far.”

 

*

 

Olivia went in first to prepare Sam for the interview. He was sitting at the table, leafing disinterestedly through a battered copy of Woman's Day as she entered. He'd carefully re-wrapped the sandwich she'd gotten for him earlier. It looked as though he'd eaten less than half of it. Huang watched and waited just outside the door.

 

“Hey, sorry you had to wait so long. Are you doing okay? You need another drink or something else to eat?”

 

“No, thank you. I'm fine,” Sam said, closing the magazine and placing it neatly off to one side. He folded his hands in front of him and looked at her expectantly.

 

“Good, that's good. I've got someone here with me, who'd like to talk with you for a few minutes.”

 

Sam shrugged. Olivia took that as consent and went to the door, beckoning Dr. Huang inside. They'd agreed that he would take the lead in the interview. They both thought it best that she stay in the room, however, as Sam seemed comfortable with her and it would hopefully give him some feeling of safety.

 

“Hello.” Dr. Huang addressed the teen with a small smile before seating himself across the table. “It's good to meet you. They tell me your name is Sam. Is that right?”

 

Sam paused before answering.

 

“Yes, that's right. I'm Sam Winchester.”

 

“Okay. Is that the name your parents gave you? Or someone else?”

 

Sam's eyes slid away and he stared at the wall opposite. “My parents, of course,” he said, but his tone said _lie_.

 

“All right. So how do you know Dean?”

 

This time Sam didn't hesitate before answering, “He's my brother.”

 

“And do you live with Dean?”

 

Sam nodded. “But we don't have a house or anything. We're on a road trip.”

 

“That sounds like fun. Where have you been so far?”

 

Sam's eyes slid away again as he answered, “All over. I don't remember exactly where though.”

 

“Do you like Dean?” he asked.

 

Sam nodded. “Sure. He takes care of me. Protects me.”

 

“What does he protect you from?”

 

Sam shrugged. “The world's a scary place. All kinds of stuff can happen if you aren't careful.”

 

“That's true. And is Dean careful with you?”

 

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“Has he ever hurt you, Sam?”

 

“No, never! I told you, he takes care of me. He'd never hurt me.”

 

“Okay. I want you know that if he did, it will never happen again. Do you understand, Sam? Dean is locked up where he can never hurt _anyone_ again,” he repeated, because sometimes repetition was needed to drive a point home.

 

But Sam was only staring at him mulishly. “I _said_ he didn't hurt me.”

 

“Has he ever hurt anyone else that you know of?”

 

Sam's tone was cautious as he said, “I wouldn't know about that.”

 

He was all but admitting that he did know but wasn't ready to talk about it. “Okay. I'd like for you to answer a few more questions for me. All right, Sam?” Without waiting for his answer, Huang began.

 

“What's your favorite color?”

 

Sam stared at him for a minute as though doubting his sanity, but went on to answer, “Blue.”

 

Huang continued, shooting out questions rapid fire.

 

“The name of the last movie you saw?”

 

“Die Hard.”

 

“Your favorite book?”

 

“Don Quixote.”

 

“And the location of your parents?”

 

“Nowhere. They're dead.” He stopped and stared at Huang, obviously surprised at his own truthful answer.

 

“How did they die?” Huang asked, hoping to keep the spigot of truth open, but Sam just shook his head.

 

“What name did they give you?”

 

As Sam sat silently, eyes wide and clearly shaken, he continued to press. “It's okay to tell the truth. No matter what Dean said, you can always tell us the truth. I know you aren't Sam Winchester. I know you aren't Dean's brother. What I don't know is who you really are.”

 

When it became clear Sam wasn't going to answer, he changed tactics.

 

“Do you know what a pedophile is, Sam?”

 

“Hebephile,” Sam said listlessly.

 

Huang paused. “Could you repeat that, please?”

 

“Dean's not a pedophile, he's a hebephile.”

 

This was not a term Sam would have come across causally. While all but the most sheltered knew what a pedophile was by Sam's age, very few would be familiar with the lesser known term.

 

“Where did you learn that word, Sam?”

 

Sam studied his hands as he answered, “Read it somewhere.”

 

“You've been researching. Learning more about the relationship between you and Dean. That tells me you are a smart young man. A smart young man who knows what Dean does to you isn't right.”

 

“I'm not like most kids, you know,” Sam said sullenly in response.

 

“So you're different, more mature? Able to handle a sexual relationship with a grown man? That's what you tell yourself but I think you know it isn't true.”

 

Sam scowled at his hands. “You don't know me.”

 

“I know that you are smart. I know you're good at taking care of yourself. I know that you don't need to do that anymore because we are going to see that you are taken care of from now on.”

 

Sam looked at Olivia, his demeanor radiating disbelief.

 

“Anyway, Dean's not that either, you know.” he said. “A hebephile. He doesn't like _all_ kids that way. Just me.”

 

“Is that what he told you?”

 

Sam nodded. “It's the truth,” he said, and Huang saw that he believed it. He was most likely correct. There had been no hints at any sexual deviance in either Winchester's history, involving children or otherwise. As many times as Dean had been arrested, held and just suspected of various crimes, if he'd had those kinds of predilections it almost certainly would have shown up before now.

 

Huang abruptly changed topics once again. “How did your parents die?”

 

Sam blinked but answered easily, “They were killed by a demon. Mom when I was a baby and Dad later on.”  
  
“No. They weren't. That's what Sam Winchester would have told me but it isn't true is it? Did Dean do something to them?”

 

“No! I told you -”

 

“Where's your mother?”

 

Sam slumped and Huang felt a surge of hope. Maybe...

 

“She really is dead. When I was a baby. It was just me and my Dad.”  
  
Careful to keep any note of triumph from his voice he asked quietly, “And what happened to your father?”  
  
“I don't know,” Sam answered, equally quietly. “We were staying at a motel. That's where I met Dean. It was one of those pay by the week kind? We, uh, moved around a lot. Dad and Dean got to be friends, I guess. Dad hadn't worked in a while and it was getting rough. There wasn't enough money for next week's rent, so Dean offered to let us stay with him. Said he had an extra bed that was just going to waste. They stayed up drinking that night but I went to sleep.” He stopped talking abruptly and studied the floor. His bottom lip was trembling ever so slightly.

 

“What happened next?” Huang asked gently. The boy wanted to talk now, wanted someone to know.

 

“When I woke up, Dad was gone. Dean said he was going to take care of me from then on.”

 

“That was very brave, telling me the truth just now. Thank you for that. Just a couple more questions for now, okay?” Sam was clearly on the edge of an emotional breakdown and it was time to wrap this up.  
  
Sam sighed and said, without being prompted, “My name really is Sam. Sam Miller. And it was somewhere in Oklahoma. Near Tulsa, I think, but I'm not real sure about that. That's all I know.”

 

*

 

“Oklahoma is a big state. He can't give us something better?” Cragen said frowning.

 

“Can't or won't. He says he's not afraid of Winchester but he's obviously lying. I'll keep trying, see if I can't get more out of him. At least we have a name to work with,” Olivia said.

 

“Anything from NCIC?”

 

“Not yet. I've been working backwards starting from a week ago, looking through all boys who have gone missing in the thirteen to fifteen year old age span. Trying to cover the whole country is a huge job. Now that I have a name to work with, maybe I'll have better luck.”

 

“What about his prints? Any luck there?”

 

“Eleven possible matches but none were anywhere near the right age.”

 

“How sure are we that he was telling the truth about his name?”

 

Olivia pursed her lips before answering. “Fifty-fifty, I'd say. It's a pretty big coincidence that he has the same first name as our perp's brother.”

 

“But that could be what set Winchester off. Running into another Sam who kind of reminded him of the brother as a kid,” Elliot said.

 

“Could be,” Olivia agreed. “Hopefully we'll know for sure soon. The problem we're facing is that if his story is true, there won't be a missing person's report filed on him. No one will be looking for him, because the father is either dead or just gone. Living a migrant lifestyle with no close ties, it's doubtful anyone else would have reporting him missing either.”

 

“Gone after leaving his son in the care of a man he barely knew,” Elliot added grimly. “Who turned out to be a monster. He'd better hope he's dead if I catch up to him.”

 

“Enough, Elliot. What about the two cases you believe Winchester may be linked to, any luck getting something substantial to tie him to one or both?”

 

“I haven't had time to -” Elliot began.

 

“Make time. I want both of you to go check the surveillance from all buildings near the Morgan. Talk to security as long as you're there, they may have seen something video missed. I'll send Munch out to see what he can dig up on the other case.” As they started to leave, he added, “And Elliot, work on Winchester. You've got some ammo now, use it. Olivia, try to get something better for us to go on out of the kid. Let's get to work, people.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, fingerprinting in real life doesn't work quite like it does on CSI. They do use a computer to scan and match prints, but that's where the resemblance ends. Several of the closest matches are then compared by hand by an actual human who would, presumably, dismiss any who couldn't possibly belong to the person they were attempting to identify. 
> 
> On another note, does anyone know where I can find floor plans for the station SVU takes place in? Or if one even exists? I'm having no luck and it would be a tremendous help in finishing out the story.


End file.
